


Entombed

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [22]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Angst, Dragon Riders, Gen, Hurt Aramis, Hurt Porthos, Hurt/Comfort, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24645703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: The Inseparables are sent on a mission to protect a valuable mine from rebels, but when they’re caught in a deadly explosion and buried alive, it becomes a race against time for the Musketeers to save them.
Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564573
Comments: 53
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

"Are you sure one of us shouldn't go with them?" d'Artagnan asked.

"They'll be fine," Constance assured him for the dozenth time since they'd decided it was time for Ayelet to go out and learn some things from another dragon that humans just couldn't teach, like hunting. Her wings were functional now and she'd taken great joy in flying around the dragon compound. Sometimes d'Artagnan worried her curiosity would lead her to fly off on her own and get into trouble. At least with this trip she'd be under the care of Dragor, the oldest dragon in the compound.

"Well, but it'd be interesting to watch," d'Artagnan pressed as Constance opened the dragon pens.

She tossed him a wry smirk. "Trust me, you wouldn't want to be on a dragon's back when it's hunting. Or performing creative flight maneuvers."

D'Artagnan quirked a brow. "He'll be teaching her some of that?"

Constance shrugged and gave the old dragon a pat as he shambled out of his den. "She's young and enthusiastic; I imagine it'll come up."

D'Artagnan sighed and crouched down on one knee to meet Ayelet at eye level. She was scampering around in circles practically vibrating with excitement; she knew what this trip was and was obviously looking forward to it.

"You be good and do everything Dragor tells you to, okay?" he told her.

She made a clicking noise that sounded like eager agreement but was barely able to hold still to properly listen to him.

D'Artagnan sighed and stood up.

Constance smiled and turned to Dragor. "We'll expect you back in two days."

The older dragon dipped his head in acknowledgement. He then let out a snort to get Ayelet's attention and the two exchanged some sort of nonverbal communication before Dragor spread his wings and, with a massive thwack, ascended into the sky. Ayelet leaped after him.

D'Artagnan had to admit he felt a certain sadness at seeing her go. Things were going to be quiet around here without her. Jean was still recovering from the bout of illness that had almost killed him and couldn't move around very much yet, leaving Constance to manage the dragons, which she was perfectly capable of doing. And d'Artagnan helped, just because he enjoyed spending time with his wife.

Unfortunately, at the moment he had to report for muster. He kissed Constance goodbye and headed for the garrison. He was a few minutes early and went to join his friends at the table under the captain's office. He'd barely sat down when Treville appeared at the balcony overhead and called down at them,

"You four, my office."

They all exchanged wary looks.

"What'd we do this time?" Porthos asked.

"Nothing I can think of," Aramis replied.

The four of them stood and trudged up the stairs to the captain's office, entering and closing the door behind them.

"Captain?" Athos queried.

"I have orders from the Cardinal," Treville began. "He's received intelligence that a mine of precious ores is going to be targeted by rebels. He's sending you four to guard it against such an attack."

D'Artagnan's brows rose sharply at that. "I'm not a dragon rider though," he pointed out. Not that he didn't jump at every opportunity to accompany his brothers on missions; it just seemed out of place that the Cardinal would include him.

"But as the Cardinal put it, you four have recently proven yourselves to be the 'best of the King's Musketeers,'" Treville replied.

"Not sure I like praise comin' from the Cardinal," Porthos grumbled.

"Nevertheless, those are his orders."

"What of the rebels?" Athos asked. "Are there any leads on their location or what exactly they are planning?"

Treville's mouth thinned. "No. The Cardinal has said he will be using his network of intelligence to discover that information. Your task is simply to protect the mine."

He pulled out a map to show them the location, then dismissed them. They had half an hour to get ready and then they were to leave. D'Artagnan hurried home to tell Constance he'd be gone for a few days.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I wanted to be here to help…"

"Duty comes first," she replied. "And it's fine. There are other musketeers willing to help with the dragons at the garrison, you know."

D'Artagnan relaxed. That was true. Constance and Jean were like family to many of the men. And with Ayelet out with Dragor, Constance wouldn't be so busy wrangling the lively little dragon.

"Be careful," she said as he finished packing his supplies.

"Always," he replied with a smile and kissed her again for a second goodbye that morning.

Back at the garrison, Athos, Aramis, and Porthos had their dragons saddled and ready to go. D'Artagnan headed for Savron to ride with Athos. The mine was an hour's flight from Paris. There was an adjoining village where the workers lived but the musketeers landed at the site of the mine. They'd be camping out while guarding it.

The men coming and going from the shaft opening skittered away from the dragons in alarm.

Athos dismounted swiftly and approached them. "We are King's Musketeers," he announced. "I am Athos. Who is in charge here?"

The miners exchanged anxious looks before one stuttered that he'd fetch the foreman and hurried back into the mine.

D'Artagnan hopped out of Savron's saddle and immediately began to survey the area. The mine shaft was at the base of a mountain surrounded by woodland. A dirt road with many wheel tracks stretched from the opening and wound around the mountain's side toward the village where the extracted ores were carted to. There was enough open space between the tree line and the shaft that a group of rebels couldn't just sneak up on them. But they could set up in the woods with muskets and pistols and pick off the miners, if that was their intention. A dragon sentry in the woods would be a good idea. Maybe one higher up on the side of the mountain too…

Aramis and Porthos were also roving keen gazes around the site, probably making the same judgements.

"I'm Jacques," a man introduced, coming out of the mine. Like the other men, his face and clothes were grimy from working underground. "I'm the foreman."

Athos introduced them all. "We've received reports the mine might be a target of an attack. Has anything unusual occurred recently? Any new workers?"

The foreman shook his head, face pinched in worry. "No."

Athos nodded. "We'll be setting up a guard around the mine. Continue with your work as usual."

Jacques flicked a nervous look over Athos's shoulder at the dragons.

"They won't trouble you," Athos assured him in a voice loud enough for the other miners to hear.

Jacques gave a hesitant sort of nod and turned to go back to his men.

"We only have to defend the mine on three sides," Aramis stated.

"Three dragons, easy," Porthos said.

"It would help if we knew what kind of attack the rebels were planning," d'Artagnan put in. "Are they going to target the mine itself or the workers? What about the village?"

"We'll have to set up a rotating watch for both," Athos replied. "But we'll concentrate on the mine since that's what the Cardinal's intelligence gathering indicated."

"If he really thought we're the best of the King's Musketeers, shouldn't he have sent us to track down the rebels ourselves?" d'Artagnan said.

Porthos snorted. "Knew he didn't really mean it. He jus' used it as a veiled excuse to give us grunt work."

"Nevertheless," Athos responded. "Here we are. And we'll do our duty."

They all grudgingly agreed and made plans for the watches to guard the mine and check on the nearby village. Two would be on guard at the shaft with at least one dragon at all times while another dragon would make a sweep over the village and the others would check the perimeter. After it was all decided, they set about making camp.

"I miss Paris already," Porthos groused. "Sleepin' on the freezin' ground in the middle of February; of course the Cardinal picked us for this."

"There's always inside the mine," Aramis quipped. "It's even large enough for the dragons."

Porthos cast a glance at the shaft. "It'd be mighty cramped."

"We might have to consider it if it rains," d'Artagnan mentioned. At the moment the skies were clear but who knew what the weather would be over the next few days.

.o.0.o.

As it turned out, the weather was as uneventful as guarding the mine was. Two days of keeping watch and the tedious boredom was beginning to get to the musketeers. D'Artagnan felt their skills would be better utilized tracking down the rebels, but they couldn't do that without leaving the mine vulnerable. Part of him wished the rebels would just make their move already so he'd get some action. And put an end to the terrorist group of course.

He imagined the miners were feeling the same. The dragons were unnerving to a lot of them, even though the musketeers had tried to make their presence as unobtrusive as possible. Still, the very fact that they were there only emphasized there was a threat, and there was a tangible tension in the air as a result.

D'Artagnan's thoughts drifted to Ayelet. Her own camping trip was supposed to be over by now. Had she returned home safely with Dragor? She probably would have liked to come along on this mission, and so far with how things were going, she wouldn't have been in the way. She might have even livened things up for them with her constant source of energy.

D'Artagnan shook his head ruefully. After two days, she would have been climbing the trees with boredom and driving him to distraction. She was still too young. But one day, soon, she'd be ready to join him on real missions.

With a beleaguered sigh, he got up to make his perimeter check through the woods. All was quiet, just as it had been since their arrival. D'Artagnan idly wondered whether the Cardinal's network of spies might have already provided the information needed to arrest the rebels, and he had just neglected to pass the word along to them that they were no longer needed at the mine. D'Artagnan wouldn't put it past him.

He wove his way through the woods, following the base of the mountain. Noise up ahead made him draw to a stop and listen. He couldn't make out anything definitive and so crept closer. Several yards away he stopped and crouched behind a tree as he watched men congregating outside another mine shaft d'Artagnan hadn't known existed. There was a cart filled with barrels outside it and someone was giving orders. Was this another crew of miners? The foreman hadn't mentioned work being commenced at another site.

Two men grabbed some barrels off the cart and took them into the mine shaft. Someone else pulled out long spools of match cord, which made d'Artagnan think the contents of those barrels was likely gunpowder. An item that was hardly suspicious when it came to mines, but d'Artagnan couldn't help getting a niggling feeling from these men. He should report back to the others.

A twig snapped behind him and he whirled just in time to see a musket stock descending toward his face. Pain exploded through his head and everything went dark.

.o.0.o.

Aramis tossed a pine nut in the air and threw his head back to catch it in his mouth. To his right, the miners came and went from the shaft as usual. Nothing was amiss. Perhaps the rebels had decided to abandon their plans of attacking the mine when they realized it was under protection by Musketeer dragon riders. Either that, or the threat they posed wasn't as serious as the Cardinal had made it out to be.

Aramis tossed back another nut and almost threw it too far, but he managed to catch it by wrenching to the side.

Across from him, Rhaego watched with a tilted head. After Aramis's third toss, he leaned down to tear a chunk of meat off the deer carcass he'd brought back earlier that morning and flung it up and over his head, then snapped his jaws in an effort to catch it. Unfortunately, the piece of deer hide ended up smacking him square in the face.

Aramis barked out a chortle. "Nice try, my friend."

Rhaego shook his head sharply to dislodge the piece of meat and glowered sulkily.

Aramis decided to take pity on him and strode over to pick up the chunk. Walking back to his original position, he then turned and threw the meat through the air. Rhaego snatched it up easily.

"I'm not as good as the catapult," Aramis said with an apologetic shrug.

"You two can't find something more constructive to do?" Athos asked as he returned from his rounds.

"Come on, you're bored too," Aramis replied.

Athos canted his head in the barest acknowledgement and picked up his canteen to take a drink of water.

"All's quiet, I assume," Porthos said, joining them. "As usual," he added with his own touch of irritation.

"To the west," Athos answered. He looked around. "Where's d'Artagnan?"

"He ain't back yet."

"How long has it been?"

Aramis frowned as he thought it over. The monotony made it difficult to keep track of time. D'Artagnan had set off to do a perimeter check; the miners had brought out a cart of ores since then and taken it to the village…and returned with the empty wagon.

"Too long," Aramis said, stiffening. "Rhaego, we need to track d'Artagnan."

The russet dragon immediately went to the young Gascon's bed roll to get his scent.

"Savron, stand guard here," Athos ordered as the rest of them set off in the direction d'Artagnan had gone earlier.

The trail was fresh enough that Rhaego was easily able to follow it, blazing a path through the woods until they came to a second mine shaft set into the mountain.

"Did you know about this?" Aramis asked Athos.

Athos shook his head. "It doesn't look like it's been used in a while. Might be dry."

Rhaego went to the opening, sniffing intently, and then let out a squawk and thrust his nose toward it.

Aramis frowned. "You're sure d'Artagnan's in there?"

His dragon snorted indignantly, and Aramis raised a hand in apology.

"Why would he go in there?" he mused out loud.

Athos strode forward and picked through some detritus at the opening before lifting a discarded torch. He held it out to Rhaego, who with a small belch of flame, lit it.

"There are tracks here," Porthos called out from where he and Vrita were inspecting a wide patch of dirt. "Recent ones."

Aramis went over to examine them. Wheel tracks, along with footprints. "A mining crew?"

"The foreman would have told us if he was sending a crew to another location," Athos replied.

"Maybe this shaft connects with the active one," Aramis theorized. "The rebels could be using it as a backdoor."

"An' d'Artagnan followed 'em? Without telling us?" Porthos rejoined.

"Or he was caught," Athos said. "Either way, if he's in here, we need to find him." He found another old torch and held the lit one to it to catch, then passed it to Porthos.

Then they ventured inside the tunnel with Rhaego leading the way, still following d'Artagnan's scent. Aramis kept his senses peeled for sounds of activity up ahead, but the mine was dark and silent. There were a few offshoots but Rhaego faithfully led them down the right passage until the light from their torches finally illuminated a figure tied up on the ground and squirming.

"Athos!" d'Artagnan exclaimed.

Aramis felt a rush of relief that the boy was all right, and he rushed forward to kneel down and untie his hands and feet since Athos and Porthos were holding the torches. He frowned at the nasty welt on d'Artagnan's temple. "Are you all right?"

D'Artagnan grimaced as he sat up. "My pride's smarting a little for getting caught."

"Caught by whom?" Athos asked.

"The rebels, I'm guessing," he replied, getting to his feet. "I spotted some activity at this second shaft. They had gunpowder and match cord, which I know could just be for mining, but I think the musket stock I took to the head proves they were up to no good." His brows knitted together. "How'd you find me?"

"Rhaego, of course," Aramis replied.

"And the rebels?"

"No sign of them. We thought maybe they were trying to access the main mine through a back door." Aramis looked around the darkened shaft. "Rhaego, can you pick up any of their scents and tell us which way they went?"

Rhaego set his nose to the ground and began to try.

"There's three barrels here," Porthos reported, swinging his torch over them. "Why leave three behind?"

"They had way more than that," d'Artagnan confirmed.

"You didn't see which way they went?" Athos asked.

D'Artagnan shook his head regretfully. "Everyone was gone by the time I woke up here."

Rhaego made a high-pitched trill and pointed back the way they came. It took some maneuvering in the tunnel for him to squeeze past Vrita in order to take the lead again.

Daylight suffused up ahead and Aramis frowned. "Rhaego, you didn't detect anyone going through another shaft?"

His dragon huffed and let out a gurgling sound that sounded like a disgruntled "since when do you not trust my abilities?"

"I'm sorry," Aramis said contritely. "It just doesn't make sense…"

The moment they reached the shaft opening and attempted to step back out into the open, several sharp reports cracked the air. Aramis instinctively ducked back inside as musket balls struck the rock around them. Athos pressed himself to the shaft edge and drew his pistol to return fire, though the barrage was relentless and prevented getting a clear shot.

Rhaego surged forward, nearly barreling over Aramis and Athos in his haste to charge their assailants. But he jerked back at another musket shot as though he'd been hit and backpedaled into the shaft. The rebels must have been armed with acimite.

Fury swept through Aramis and he whipped out his pistol to shoot back. The rebels were all taking cover in the trees and he could barely get a clean sight line. He did, however, catch a glimpse in his peripheral vision of a barrel wedged into some dirt and rock directly outside the mine opening. A few spaces away was another, and another. Match cords ran from each one down the slope and across the ground—and each one had a sparking flame rapidly racing down the lines.

There was no way to put them all out, not with the rebels laying down cover fire, and especially not if they were armed with acimite to use against the dragons.

Aramis grabbed Athos and yanked him away from the opening to shove him backward. "Run!"

There was a moment of delay as Vrita, in the rear, struggled to get turned around. D'Artagnan and Porthos were pushing at her fervently. Aramis slapped Rhaego's flank to get him moving and broke into a run behind Athos.

They didn't get far before the mine exploded.


	2. Chapter 2

Athos woke with a ragged cough, choking on gritty particles in his throat. He rolled onto his side and hacked into his arm, which only proved to aggravate things seeing as his sleeve was also coated in dirt. It took a moment for him to catch his breath, and when he finally lifted his gaze, everything was pitch black. A sliver of terror zinged through him as he went still, listening.

There was a shuffle and movement not far away, the skittering of rocks. And then a soft incandescence filled the space, emanating from Rhaego's belly. The dragon shifted around stiffly, bits of rock and silt falling off his back. He searched the ground until he found one of the torches, and then he lowered his head to burp out a small burst of flame to ignite it.

Athos squinted against the flare and reared back from the whoosh of heat. He put his left hand down to support himself and hissed as pain ripped through his wrist. He yanked the appendage to his chest and gritted his teeth as he felt along the bone. He didn't _think_ it was broken. He cautiously flexed his fingers and immediately concluded it was at least sprained.

He looked around. There was rock everywhere—two sides the walls of a mine shaft and two sides filled with boulders jammed together in an airtight barrier. That explosion had entombed them.

Rhaego made a worried squalling sound, and Athos turned to see him nudging an unconscious Aramis. Athos staggered over to them, dropping down and fumbling to get one glove off to check Aramis for a pulse. There was one, steady and strong. But bright crimson blood painted one whole side of his face. Athos swiftly checked him for other injuries but didn't find any. Nothing that was obvious, anyway.

He then hobbled over to snatch up the torch and swung it around in search of the others. But there was no sign of them in this small, enclosed space between cave-ins. They must be behind one of the piles of rocks…or buried beneath it.

No, they were further behind in the tunnel, further away from the blast. There was a chance they were just trapped. Athos shifted his gaze from one pile to the other, trying to determine which was front and which was back. He went to what he guessed was the rear and started running his hands over the rocks in search of gaps.

"Porthos! D'Artagnan!" he called, then broke into coughs as the effort stirred some of the dust still in his throat. He was parched.

He found a notch in the rock to jab the torch into and then patted himself down in search of his water canteen. He found it, mercifully undamaged, and took a small sip to first swish around his mouth and spit out, then took a longer drag. He had to force himself to stop before he gulped down too much; he'd have to take stock of their supplies and ration the water.

Athos turned back to the rocks and tried again. "D'Artagnan! Porthos!"

There was no response.

"Vrita!"

Still nothing.

Athos tried to grip a chunk of rock and pry it loose, but it was wedged in tight and his gloved fingers slipped without proper purchase. He took it off and tried his bare hands, but that only served to scrape his fingers on the coarse granite.

"Rhaego," he called. "I need you to try to loosen some of these."

The russet dragon tossed a hesitant look at Aramis but nevertheless shuffled over and began clawing at the boulders. One moved a fraction, but it shook the precarious stability of the entire pile and everything began to shift with a forbidding groan.

"Stop!" Athos shouted, whipping out his arm to hold Rhaego at bay. They both froze, and the cave settled.

Athos sagged. So, trying to dig themselves out could risk bringing more rocks down on their heads. They'd have to wait for a rescue.

If a rescue was even underway. With the musketeers out of commission, the rebels now had unimpeded access to the main mine. Except for Savron, of course, but even one dragon against a band of heavily armed men would find it difficult to maintain his ground forever.

Athos staggered back over to Aramis and sank to the ground. Again, he reached out to feel for a pulse, just to assure himself. Then he slumped where he sat, unable to do anything but sit and wait and hope for a miracle.

.o.0.o.

D'Artagnan moaned and lolled his head back and forth as he fought his way to consciousness. His eyelids fluttered open groggily, only to be met with all consuming blackness. He blinked several times, trying to clear his vision, but there was nothing to clear. His heart lurched with panic and he rolled onto his side. The ground beneath him was rough and gritty. He felt around blindly.

"Athos?" he called tremulously. "Porthos?"

No one answered. They'd been in the mine shaft and on their way out when they'd been pinned down by musket fire. Then Aramis had yelled at them to run, back into the mine. What had happened after that?

Fighting the gripping terror that he might be blind, d'Artagnan moved his hands across the ground around him until his fingers bumped against something. He pulled his glove off to feel what it was and discovered a piece of wood. He grabbed the cylindrical staff and worked his hands down to the charred and tacky cloth wrapped around one end. The torch.

Keeping one hand on it, d'Artagnan reached into his pocket for his piece of flint. The others may have been spoiled by their dragons, but d'Artagnan still carried some practical items on his person. He laid the torch across his lap and tried to envision it in his mind as he positioned the flint above where the end was hanging out over his leg. Imagining it didn't really help and he still felt disoriented as he struck the flint. A brief spark told him he wasn't blind, and with that knowledge, d'Artagnan renewed his determination.

Finally a larger set of sparks flew from the flint and caught the torch. D'Artagnan yelped and yanked his ungloved hand away as one of the sparks hit his exposed skin, but it was a brief sting before it winked out. The torch caught and filled the blackness with orange luminescence.

D'Artagnan got to his feet and turned in a full circle, his heart dropping into his stomach. He was on the wrong side of a cave-in with a dark abandoned mine shaft stretching into an abyss behind him.

He arced the torch around again and stiffened when it cast flickering shadows over what he'd thought was a large pile of rocks but was, in fact, Vrita. She was lying on the ground, unmoving. D'Artagnan rushed to her side, almost tripping over scattered rocks. He laid a hand over her body and felt it rise and fall.

"Vrita?" he prompted, inching down to her face. Her eyes were closed. He didn't see any blood or injury.

Mouth pinching with worry, d'Artagnan turned to search the space for the others. His gaze fell on Porthos, who was lying on his back. D'Artagnan's heart skipped a beat as he noticed Porthos's lower half was buried under a pile of rocks.

D'Artagnan stumbled over to him and reached out a shaky hand to check for a pulse. Porthos was covered in a sheet of dust that made him look like a gisant sculpture ready to be set upon a stone coffin. But he lived. D'Artagnan released a shuddering breath when he felt the pulse beneath his fingers.

He turned to the rocks on Porthos's legs next and attempted to move them, but they were too heavy to simply lift. He could try pushing…but was afraid that might injure Porthos further. D'Artagnan didn't even know how badly he was injured now. If his legs were completely crushed…

He focused on taking steadying breaths. He couldn't panic. Porthos needed him. So did Vrita. And Athos, Aramis, and Rhaego… D'Artagnan looked at the wall of rocks, a lump settling in his throat. He was alone in the dark with two unconscious and wounded companions, and no idea whether the others had survived or not.

.o.0.o.

Savron was perched on a cleft above and to the right of the mine shaft when he felt a shudder rip through the mountain. Off in the distance of the direction the others had gone, a plume of smoke and rock burst into the air. The reverberations shook the mine, and Savron heard several men cry out from within the shaft entrance.

He snapped his wings taut and launched into the air toward the source of the explosion. Through the dissipating smoke and settling dust, he found what looked like a cave or perhaps an old mine completely caved in. Movement in the woods caught his attention and he banked toward it. Men were fleeing under the cover of the trees and Savron swept low with a roar.

A shot fired from below and skimmed his wing with a searing burn. His flight rocked slightly and he bared his fangs. Acimite.

There were too many targets and they were running away from the mine, so Savron veered back toward the site of the explosion. He saw no sign of Vrita or Rhaego, which filled him with alarm. Landing outside the recent rockslide, he immediately sniffed the ground for evidence of his companions. There were a myriad of scents overlapping each other, but his rider and friends were definitely on top. They had been here, they had gone into the tunnel…and apparently hadn't come back out.

Savron reared up and began clawing at the pile of rocks, trying to pry them loose. But as soon as he dragged some free, more above simply spilled down to take their place. He ceased his efforts and backed up a step, then let out a throaty call. He waited for several long beats, then tried again.

He heard no echoing response from within. Perhaps they hadn't been near the entrance when it collapsed. Or maybe they had and were buried. Savron moved to the other side and tried pulling rocks away from that section, but there were just more beneath it and he had no idea how deep they went.

The miners began to arrive, harried voices mixing together as they took in the situation. Savron backed up, barked at them, and thrust his nose toward the rocks. He repeated it again, and again. Most of the men looked at him in sheer confusion but one was astute enough to speak up and say,

"I think the Musketeer guards were in that shaft."

Savron chirped in the affirmative and bobbed his head fervently.

The rest of the miners still looked uncertain, and Savron grumbled lowly. It was so difficult to get those unfamiliar with dragons to understand him.

The foreman cleared his throat to address his men. "Get the excavation equipment. Robert, take three men and make sure everyone gets out of the mine and get the injured to the village."

"What about the rebels?" someone spoke up. "We're vulnerable."

The foreman's expression pinched. "I see no rebels here. Maybe they targeted the wrong shaft. Look, we got men trapped in there and we need to get them out. So move!"

Savron backed away from the collapsed cave. These men knew how to handle this sort of situation; he should let them work. He swung his head toward the woods where the rebels had fled. Yes, there was a chance they could return and target the main mine now that it was vulnerable. Savron could still guard it. But he might not be enough, especially if they were armed with weapons against dragons.

No, his best chance—and his friends' best hope—was to return to the garrison and get help. It was only an hour's flight, faster if he pushed himself hard. He'd have to risk it.

And so Savron launched himself into the air to turn toward Paris, pumping his wings as hard and fast as he could go.

.o.0.o.

Athos tipped his canteen just enough to wet one corner of his bandana, which he then used to dab at the inordinate amount of blood on Aramis's face. Head wounds could bleed a lot; it wasn't necessarily something to worry about.

He tried to find the gash itself with so little light from the one torch and Aramis's hair being plastered in a dark, sticky mess. He tried to be somewhat gentle, too, but also thorough. Aramis's face scrunched up and he let out a low moan.

Athos quickly set the cloth aside and laid a bracing hand along the marksman's neck. "Aramis? Can you hear me?"

"Mmph." Heavy eyelids fluttered open blearily. "A'os?" he slurred.

"That's right."

"What…" He lolled his gaze around, then his breath hitched with a choking sound.

Athos quickly rolled him onto his side, hissing at the pain in his injured wrist as Aramis retched onto the ground instead of asphyxiating on it. Athos held him steady until he was done, and then gingerly rolled him back so he was lying flat.

Rhaego nuzzled Aramis's hair and Athos elbowed him away.

"Mind the head wound," he warned.

Rhaego narrowed his eyes unhappily but at least heeded him.

"Where?" Aramis croaked.

"We were in the old mine shaft. We found d'Artagnan and were on our way out when we were pinned down. There was an explosion. You saw it coming first. Do you remember?"

Aramis's brows puckered in concentration. "Y-yes." He squinted further. "Trapped?" he asked next, throat bobbing as though he were still fighting to swallow back bile.

"Yes," Athos said grimly. "Rhaego's here, but not d'Artagnan, Porthos, or Vrita. It looks like we were caught between two cave-ins. They must be on the other side."

Aramis's frown deepened and it seemed as though even thinking was causing him severe pain. "They were…behind."

Athos laid a hand on his arm to head off his train of thought. "Yes. They're deeper into the shaft than we are."

They would not be getting out to get help first.

Aramis closed his eyes tightly and struggled to breathe through his nose. "You hurt?" he asked faintly a few moments later.

"Not seriously."

Aramis prized his eyes open in an effort to fix Athos with a stern glower, though it failed utterly.

"My wrist is at least sprained," Athos amended.

Aramis hummed. "I'm afraid I can't- see straight- at the moment."

"I'll manage."

Aramis's hand twitched upward. "Rhaego," he mumbled.

His dragon laid his head down so his chin was touching Aramis's hand. The contact helped settle Aramis.

"Savron's out there," Aramis murmured a moment later.

Athos stretched his legs out and shifted around so he could lean against Rhaego. "I know. He'll get help."

Athos had faith in his dragon.

But what he didn't mention was the very real possibility that they could run out of air before anyone was able to dig them out…


	3. Chapter 3

Treville was in his office going over reports when the alarm bell started ringing. He looked up with a frown. Any urgent matter should have been reported directly to him before he ordered the bell sounded to summon the musketeers. He strode toward his door and marched out onto the balcony overlooking the garrison.

"What's going on?" he demanded of the men gathering below.

"It's Savron," Etienne called back.

That didn't answer his question, so Treville swept toward the stairs and down to the yard. All the men present were spilling out in answer to the alarm bell—which was being rung by Athos's silverback.

The dragon finally released the rope once he had their attention and turned toward the captain. Throwing his head back, he belted out a trumpeting call that only echoed the warning bell's own signal: there was trouble.

"Dragon riders, to arms!" Treville ordered.

The mine must have been attacked, but what could have happened to send Savron back here, without his rider?

Something bad, that was for certain.

Treville strode toward the dragon tack room to grab Kilgar's saddle. He'd be going after his men.

.o.0.o.

Something scratched at the back of Porthos's throat and he coughed to clear it. That only served to trigger a full bout of coughing he couldn't stop, and when he tried to roll over to make it easier, he found he couldn't. His eyes shot open and he started to thrash.

"Porthos! Lie still!"

His muzzy head took a prolonged moment to register d'Artagnan's voice. Blinking rapidly, his vision gradually coalesced into the young Gascon's features, though partially obscured by dancing shadows. Porthos furrowed his brows and cast his gaze around. "What happened?"

"The rebels blew the mine shaft entrance." D'Artagnan hesitated a beat. "We're trapped."

Porthos's eyes widened and he immediately tried to sit up, only to find he couldn't move his lower half. A glance down showed his legs buried under a pile of rocks. Panic surged through him and he wriggled harder, trying to get free. Pain spiked through his legs and he cried out.

"Porthos, stop!" D'Artagnan grabbed his shoulders and fought to push him back down. "You'll hurt yourself worse!"

He sucked in a shuddering breath, then another as he struggled to get himself under control.

"I tried to get you free but the rocks are too heavy," d'Artagnan said remorsefully. "Are you in pain? Can…can you feel your legs?"

Now that he wasn't squirming, the pain had receded. "Yeah," he grunted. "I can feel 'em. They're mighty uncomfortable. Can't…?" He looked around for the others; surely a dragon and some extra hands could get him free. But he didn't see anyone else, except Vrita, who seemed to be sleeping.

"She's been out since the cave-in," d'Artagnan explained. "She's alive," he quickly added. "I tried to look her over for wounds, but I'm not exactly a dragon medic."

"Where's Aramis?" Porthos asked, his heart starting to hammer when he couldn't see him or Athos.

D'Artagnan's mouth tightened. "They must be behind the wall of rocks. They were closer to the explosion than we were…"

That dreaded, fluttery thumping of his heart ramped up and Porthos pushed himself up onto his elbows again. "We have to get to 'em," he gritted out. He tried to shift his legs, to no effect. "Argh!"

"Injuring yourself further isn't going to help them," d'Artagnan snapped. His shoulders sagged a second later. "Don't you think I've tried to find an opening? Nothing budges. Maybe Vrita would be strong enough but…" He trailed off and cast a worried look at the unconscious dragon.

Porthos let himself drop back down with a heavy thud. "Rhaego hasn't tried to dig through?" he asked, already dreading the answer.

"No," d'Artagnan said quietly. "He might be injured like Vrita."

_Or buried_.

Porthos wrenched himself away from the traitorous thought, because it meant Aramis and Athos were likely dead too, and he absolutely refused to entertain such notions.

D'Artagnan worked his jaw as he glanced away from Porthos. "I was thinking I should search the tunnels, see if there is a shaft that connects to the main mine. I could get help."

"So why are you still here?" Porthos grunted.

D'Artagnan looked hesitant. "We only have one torch. I didn't want to leave and risk you waking up in the dark alone. But if I go now…"

"You'd be leavin' me in the dark," Porthos finished grimly. That was not an appealing prospect.

But they couldn't just lie here either, hoping someone would be able to get to them soon. It wasn't like they'd told the miners where they were going when they set off to find d'Artagnan. What if no one knew to look for them here? Or what if the miners saw evidence of the explosion and just assumed they were dead?

"You should go," Porthos said stiffly.

"You sure?"

"The sooner you find help, the sooner I can get out of here."

Still, d'Artagnan looked reluctant.

"Look, I'm not alone," Porthos pointed out. "Vrita's here." _Unconscious_. But at least it meant he wasn't _completely_ alone.

D'Artagnan nodded solemnly and picked up the torch from where it'd been perched. Porthos tried to keep his breath from hitching as d'Artagnan carried it further away, down the tunnel.

"Don't get lost!" he called out a few moments before the shadows cascaded over him. He could still see the flicker of the firelight, but it was receding. Soon it was gone, and he was engulfed in blackness.

He focused on the sounds of his breath. In and out. Not too fast. There was no reason to panic. Nothing had changed in the few minutes since d'Artagnan had left, taking the light with him. No monsters lurking in the dark, waiting to pounce.

Was that a chink of rock?

"Vrita?" Porthos called, a tinge of desperation in his tone.

His dragon didn't respond.

He held his breath, listening for noise. The sound of blood rushing in his ears became too loud, he couldn't differentiate anything else. He wanted to yell for d'Artagnan to come back, then immediately upbraided himself for his weakness. D'Artagnan had to try to find help, or they could be stuck down here until they died. Porthos definitely didn't want to die down here.

His heart thudded harder and he squeezed his eyes shut. The darkness behind his lids was less expansive, less gaping. But his skin still prickled as he strained to listen to his surroundings. Sometimes he thought he heard a noise but whenever he jerked his head toward it, nothing followed.

He shifted anxiously. Even without sight he felt like the walls were closing in on him. Not being able to move didn't help the irrational sensation. Porthos tried to move his legs again, but again he couldn't and only ignited a burst of pain in his lower limbs. His breaths started coming harsher and faster, the only sounds in the gaping abyss. The sensory deprivation was suffocating.

How long had d'Artagnan been gone? Only a few minutes? Hours? What if he didn't come back? What if he got lost or fell down a shaft and couldn't get out? What if they were all going to die in here, entombed before they were even dead?

Porthos clenched his fists as shudders wracked his body. He tried to force himself to get control, to remain calm and not panic. But it felt like a losing battle. Vrita didn't wake up. She could have died in the moments of darkness and silence and Porthos would never know. Was he going to die or lose his mind first…

Faint light suffused through the Stygian blackness. Porthos hadn't realized he'd opened his eyes—the darkness was the same within as without—but now he saw orange glimmers dancing across the rocks, growing brighter. He craned his neck back to look. His heart leaped with so much joy at the sight of d'Artagnan that he belatedly realized the young Gascon was alone.

"What happened?" he asked, surprised by the shakiness in his voice.

D'Artagnan didn't seem to notice as he ensconced the torch between some rocks to hold upright and then crouched down next to Porthos. "I found a few dead ends, and some other tunnels, but I'm pretty sure they were going in the opposite direction of the main mine." His shoulders sagged with defeat. "There was no connecting shaft."

Porthos nodded jerkily as the news sank in. He was grateful d'Artagnan was back, but it did mean they were still trapped, with no way out.

.o.0.o.

Athos watched the torch's flames undulate back and forth, their movement the only activity in the enclosed space. He knew the fire was consuming oxygen, knew they could prolong their time if he snuffed it out. But the prospect of then sitting in pitch blackness for an indeterminate amount of time was no more appealing than slowly running out of air.

Rhaego shifted behind him, jostling Athos's position leaning against him. There was a faint sucking sound and then Rhaego was squirming again. Athos finally scooted away and turned around to see what he was doing. The dragon was licking a spot on his upper foreleg. Then he clamped his jaws around the limb and began to suck.

Athos pushed himself to his feet. "Stop that!"

Rhaego ceased his gnawing but only to shoot Athos a glower.

"What's wrong?" Aramis asked blearily.

Athos moved closer, careful to step around Aramis's head, and stiffened as he found a bleeding sore, torn up and jagged from Rhaego aggravating it. The dragon wouldn't have done that to himself, though. Athos mentally cursed as he remembered the fight before the explosion. Rhaego had tried to go charging out, but had then recoiled. He must have been shot.

Athos went to pluck the torch from its sconce and brought it back over so he could get a better look. Sure enough, there were obsidian shards glinting in the wound tract from an acimite ball shattering upon impact.

"What's wrong?" Aramis repeated more firmly.

"Rhaego took an acimite ball to the leg," Athos informed him.

Aramis lolled his head up to look, only to squeeze his eyes shut as even that small movement made him dizzy.

"Stay there," Athos ordered down at his friend.

"Have to…dig out the shards," Aramis said breathlessly. "Could get infected."

"I know. I'll do it."

Athos really didn't want to. He was not the field medic of their group, nor did he have patience for Rhaego's mercurial moods. But Aramis was in no condition to do it, and even though their chances of getting out of here were slim, Athos was going to behave as though they were going to.

He took his main gauche from his belt and set both it and the torch down so the blade was touching the flames.

"It won't be neat," he warned. He had neither the instruments nor proper lighting for this. But at least his hand would be slightly more precise than Rhaego's bumbling teeth.

"Rhaego," Aramis breathed, flailing his hand toward his dragon. "You have to let Athos do this. Don't fight him."

Athos picked up the blade, now heated, and turned toward the russet dragon, who was hunkered down with a narrow gaze fixed on him. A few years ago, Rhaego would have been hissing and spitting and running away from anyone but Aramis trying to treat his injuries. Now he had nowhere to run.

Athos cautiously approached the dragon, tensely aware of Rhaego's eyes tracking him. He gritted his teeth. "I need more light. Shift this way." He jerked his chin where he wanted Rhaego to go.

Rhaego glowered but nevertheless shuffled a couple of feet into the range of the torch light.

"Athos is helping," Aramis reminded his dragon, tone calm and patient, albeit tired.

Athos inhaled sharply and angled the dagger's tip toward the wound. A few of the shards weren't that deep, either because the ball hadn't penetrated that far or Rhaego's haphazard ministrations had drawn them out. It didn't take much to scrap the edge of the blade against them until they came dislodged and chinked to the ground.

Athos angled his head several different ways, trying to catch the reflection of light on shards he couldn't easily see. There was a glint deeper in that he was going to have to cut around to get out. He flicked an apprehensive look at Rhaego before bearing down with the dagger.

Rhaego growled and shifted.

"Aramis," Athos called in warning, needing the marksman to keep his dragon in check.

"Mm, Rhaego…" Aramis trailed off.

Athos snapped his gaze toward him. "Aramis! Stay awake!" But he got no response. He whipped his attention back to Rhaego and speared the dragon with his fiercest glare. "You'd better hold still."

It took every ounce of taut energy to focus on his task that Athos didn't have much to spare noticing that Rhaego behaved exactly as he'd told him to. Shudders rippled through the dragon's muscles occasionally, but it was clear he was doing his best not to move. Athos dug out another shard with his fingers, his jaw clenched tightly agains the pain in his sprained wrist, and inspected the wound tract, but he didn't see any more glints.

"Don't move yet," he warned as he crouched down to gather up the pieces he'd extracted, trying to see if they made up a complete ball. "Can you feel any more in there?" he asked Rhaego.

The dragon slowly angled his nose toward the wound and sniffed, then shook his head in the negative.

Athos exhaled in relief. He wiped the blood on his hands and dagger on his trousers and sheathed his blade, then gave the wound one last look. It was a right mess, but dragons were hearty creatures; Rhaego would heal better now that the offending alloy was out. Assuming Athos really had gotten it all.

"I don't have any bandages," he said. "So no more licking."

Rhaego made a small gurgling sound but turned to lay back down next to Aramis.

Athos returned to his brother's side as well and reached out to clasp Aramis's neck. "Aramis, wake up."

Lethargic eyelids slid open to half mast. "Athos?" he whispered.

"Stay with me."

"'M here," Aramis murmured. "Just, so tired."

Athos closed his eyes for a brief moment. "I know."

"Let me jus' rest my eyes…"

Athos moved his hand to lightly rest over Aramis's chest. "All right." He kept his arm across his brother's sternum to measure the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

Whether it was the head injury, mere exhaustion, or the dwindling air, Athos felt the weight of defeat settling over him. So he let Aramis sleep as he and Rhaego kept silent watch in the crypt that could very well end up their final resting place.


	4. Chapter 4

Treville and the rest of the Musketeer dragon riders arrived at the mine within two hours of Savron's distress call. Coming in from an aerial position, they were able to see what looked like an active mine site, and a great deal of activity clustered in another section away from it. Treville signaled two riders to go on to the other shaft in case another attack would be underway soon, then nudged Kilgar to take him down. They landed on a stretch of dirt path on the edge of the activity as the rest of his men found other places to land along the base of the mountain.

Treville scanned the men working with equipment at what looked like a tunnel collapse for the person in charge. Fortunately, the foreman approached him first, his gaze sweeping over the eight dragons suddenly in their midst.

"Musketeers?"

Treville nodded brusquely. "What's happened?"

"There was an explosion. When we got here, one of the Musketeer dragons—that one," he nodded to Savron, "—was digging at the cave-in. We thought maybe the Musketeer soldiers had been inside."

Treville's chest tightened with the news and he turned to Athos's dragon. "Is that true?"

Savron chirped with a fervent head nod.

"What about Vrita and Rhaego?"

Savron nodded vigorously again, eyes shimmering with obvious worry.

Treville turned back to the foreman. "The mine was attacked?"

"No. This shaft has been dry for over a year."

"What were my men doing here then?"

The foreman shrugged. "I don't know."

Treville inhaled sharply but kept his tone level as he continued, "Have the rebels returned to attack the active mine now that it's unguarded?"

"No. There's been no sign of trouble, other than this. There were a few partial collapses in the active mine from the shockwave, but we got our men out." He hesitated. "We've started excavation, but it's a slow and delicate process. I- I don't want you expecting rapid results here. We have to be careful or we could trigger another collapse. And the hard fact of the matter is even if they survived the explosion, they could still die before we're able to reach them."

Treville's jaw tightened, but he nodded grimly at the honest assessment. He waved at Kilgar and Savron. "Use the dragons however you need; they'll do what you ask."

The foreman gave the dragons a wary look but nodded and turned to head back to work.

"Wait," Treville called. "What about another way in, from another mine shaft?"

The foreman shook his head. "There are none. There are some natural caves around the other side of the mountain, and sometimes they intersect with the mining shafts, but we don't have a map to tell you which ones would lead you down here."

"But it's possible."

"It would take you hours to navigate them and you'd risk getting lost."

Treville glanced at the excavation efforts. "You've got hours of work on this end anyway."

The foreman canted his head in concession.

Treville turned and walked a few paces away to where his men had gathered, anxious for news. "Savron's indicated they were all in the mine when it exploded. The miners are working to dig them out, but it will take time. Etienne, Hugo, you're with me. There are some natural caves I want to check for a back way in. Cornet, take the others and do a search of the area for the rebels. It's strange they would not only target a dry mine shaft but then not use the consequent chaos to attack the active one."

His men all gave affirmative nods and dispersed to their assignments. Treville sent Etienne's and Hugo's dragons ahead to scout out the location of the caves while they headed to the active mine site to load up on rope, pickaxes, and torches.

One of the miners still at that shaft gave them a stick of charcoal. "To mark the caves so you can find your way back," he explained.

Treville gave a grateful nod. Then with grim determination, the musketeers set off.

.o.0.o.

Aramis coughed on the water Athos tipped into his mouth, finding it difficult to swallow while lying supine on the ground. Sitting up, however, would only make things worse between the dizzying vertigo and his stomach rebelling against the meager liquid he had managed to get down. He clamped his jaw shut and swallowed against the urge to retch again. The fetid odor from his first bout was already rank within the enclosed space they were trapped in.

"Never imagined I'd die like this," he murmured.

"How did you imagine it?" Athos asked.

"In battle, of course."

Athos shifted beside him, drawing one leg up. "Battle drove us into the mine and the explosives that trapped us were part of an attack."

Aramis let out a soft snort, then regretted it. He furrowed his brow. "The explosives were on the outside. If they wanted the shockwave to harm the other mine, they should have planted the charges further in, like where we found d'Artagnan." His head pulsed with a dull throbbing and he closed his eyes.

"It does seem it was more of a trap for us," Athos said, picking up the train of thought.

"Why?" Aramis voiced. He struggled to get his thoughts in order, but thinking only made his head hurt more.

Porthos would have a quip for that, were he here. Aramis's chest constricted at the thought of him and d'Artagnan. Were they alive? Injured? They were most certainly trapped, and would remain so until rescue first found Aramis and Athos. If they ever did.

The ceiling began to shake slightly and small pebbles and dust showered down on them. Rhaego leaped up and hunkered his body down over Aramis and Athos, his wings curled around them in a protective shield. Athos gripped Aramis's forearm as they braced for more. But after a moment the earth settled, and Rhaego slowly backed away, still poised to cover them again if the quaking resumed.

"If the Cardinal finally wanted to get rid of me," Aramis mumbled, "there are less elaborate ways."

Athos didn't say anything, just kept his hand on Aramis's arm as he drifted off to sleep again.

.o.0.o.

D'Artagnan sat next to Porthos, every bone in his body screaming that he couldn't just sit around doing nothing. But there was nothing that could be done. Unless he wanted to venture into the endless network of tunnels that led deeper into the mountain until he _maybe_ came out the other side. But he couldn't leave Porthos, so that wasn't even an option anyway.

Porthos's face scrunched up and he shifted in obvious pain and discomfort. There wasn't anything d'Artagnan could do about that, either. The silence was as thick and cloying as the darkness at their backs. D'Artagnan's hollow optimism had run out, and not even Porthos's fortitude had held up long under the weight of his predicament.

A snort and low keen had d'Artagnan straightening with a snap of his spine. Vrita was moving. He leaped to his feet and hurried over to her.

"Vrita? Hey, girl, easy."

Kneeling down, he laid a hand over the dragon's head as her eyelids peeled open. She blinked sluggishly at him and let out a pained whimper.

D'Artagnan's heart constricted. He didn't know where she was injured, and even if he did, he had no way to treat anything.

He stroked her head soothingly. "You just rest."

She craned her neck to the side until she found Porthos, and then whined.

"I'm fine, old girl," Porthos quickly assured her. "Don't you worry 'bout me."

Her eyelids fluttered and she lolled her head back. D'Artagnan kept stroking her head until she seemed to settle into sleep. He hated that he couldn't do more.

His frustration climbing again, d'Artagnan got to his feet and stormed back over to the pile of rocks on Porthos's legs. He bent down and gripped one, then tried to lift with all his might. It was so heavy though, and his back started to twinge while the coarse granite scraped his fingertips.

"D'Artagnan," Porthos interjected. "Stop. It ain't worth hurtin' yourself."

He released the boulder and gave it a furious slap that left his palm stinging. Then he bowed over the rocks, shoulders heaving.

"Sit down," Porthos grunted.

D'Artagnan lifted his gaze to Vrita, then crouched down next to Porthos. "Maybe she could move the rocks," he whispered.

Porthos's expression was carefully neutral. "Maybe. But she's hurt too." His eyes wavered with a brief glimpse of worry. "You still can't tell how bad?"

D'Artagnan hung his head. "No. There's no visible trauma. I don't know if she's got internal injuries…" He didn't finish. If she did, that was it.

Porthos's chin quivered under the rigidity of his jaw and he looked away. He knew it too.

D'Artagnan slumped back on the ground, despair sweeping over him. He'd known what he was signing up for with the life of a musketeer, thrived in danger, even. But the number of times he'd found himself in situations where he didn't know whether one or more of his brothers were dead, where he'd come close to never seeing Constance again, those hurt as much as a physical, mortal wound. He knew he had to stay strong for them all. It was just getting hard to see how to.

Faint flickers of light appeared at the back of the tunnel and d'Artagnan leaped to his feet. "Hello! We're back here!"

The light juddered as its bearer picked up pace. D'Artagnan was expecting a group of miners; he most certainly never expected to see _the captain_ appearing out of the dark. It left him standing there in a flabbergasted stupor as Treville strode toward him, Etienne and Hugo on his heels.

"D'Artagnan!"

"Captain," he stammered.

Vrita opened her eyes and shifted her gaze toward them.

"Are you injured?" Treville asked, looking d'Artagnan over critically.

He shook his head. "Porthos's pinned."

Treville stepped around him to see for himself.

"Cap'n," Porthos grunted. "Surprised to see you here."

"Savron came to the garrison," Treville explained. "The miners are working on excavation from the outside." He glanced at the mound of boulders that had Porthos half buried and filled the shaft. "I take it Athos and Aramis are on the other side?"

"And Rhaego. We can only assume," d'Artagnan added. "They were behind us when the explosion brought the ceiling down. Do you think there's a chance…?" He couldn't finish his question.

The captain's expression was grim and he didn't respond. "Etienne, Hugo, we need to make a lever to get Porthos free."

The other musketeers crowded around, evaluating the situation.

"Looks like there's a small rock here preventing the entire thing from bearing down on you," Hugo said. "If we insert a pickaxe here, and maybe one of the torches, we should get enough leverage. We'll have to angle it so any shifting rocks don't come down this direction."

"Wait," d'Artagnan interjected. "If we shift the rocks too much, couldn't they go the other way to where Athos, Aramis, and Rhaego are? If they are still alive, we could cause another cave-in."

"Unfortunately, there's no way to know," Treville said.

"Then I'd rather wait," Porthos put in.

Four sets of eyes dropped down to his face, and he fidgeted in obvious discomfort at his position.

"I won't risk them," he said staunchly. "We can wait."

D'Artagnan flicked a look at the captain, whose mouth thinned into a tight line. After several long beats, Treville finally gave a clipped nod. They would wait.

Hugo handed d'Artagnan a fresh water skin, which he took a hearty drought from. He then knelt next to Porthos to help him drink. Etienne went to look over Vrita, though he had no more luck diagnosing her injuries than d'Artagnan did. He gave her water though and some small cured bits of meat from his pouch.

The captain and Hugo continued to discuss how best to fashion a lever to free Porthos when the time came. The problem was, they had no way of knowing if the others had been found. And they couldn't stay down here indefinitely. D'Artagnan understood Porthos's reticence, and if their positions were reversed he'd probably have made the same choice.

A tinkling of pebbles sounded from above, followed by a subtle reverberation. D'Artagnan stiffened. The rocks shifted, chucking a boulder loose to go tumbling down the pile. Then more shifted, and Porthos suddenly let out a horrendous cry.

"Get him out, now!" Treville ordered.

Hugo and Etienne rushed over and started jamming the pickaxes into the rocks. D'Artagnan's heart thundered against his rib cage as he waited for more of the cave to fall on all their heads.

Porthos was trying to bite back his screams but could only hold back so much. D'Artagnan scrambled around to grip one of his arms. Treville took the other, both of them ready. Hugo and Etienne leaned on the lever. There was a grinding sound as rocks shifted against each other. Porthos screamed again. But then d'Artagnan felt the slightest give as the rocks moved just enough, and he and Treville staggered backward, dragging Porthos clear. Hugo and Etienne jumped out of the way as more rocks came tumbling down.

Treville dropped Porthos's arm and swept around to inspect his legs. D'Artagnan shifted to get a look himself, heart in his throat. Porthos grunted at the captain's swift inspection.

"I don't feel any obvious breaks," Treville said. "Can you walk?"

Porthos made a strangled sort of sound and nodded before trying to push himself up. D'Artagnan and Treville took his arms to help him, but the moment he tried to put weight on one leg, he fell with a cry of pain.

"S'rry, Cap'n," Porthos panted.

"Are you sure they're not broken?" d'Artagnan whispered.

Treville shot him a quelling look, and he swallowed hard. It would be a devastating blow if Porthos had been crippled by this. None of them were doctors though and couldn't make any determinations.

Etienne went over to Vrita and coaxed her into getting up. She seemed a bit more awake now as he led her closer, then asked her to crouch down again so they could haul Porthos onto her back. Porthos gritted his teeth throughout the process until he was in the saddle.

"It's a long walk back," Treville told both dragon and rider. "Signal when you need a rest." He picked up a torch and started to lead the way.

D'Artagnan cast one last look back at the cave-in before following, hoping that by the time they made it out, Athos, Aramis, and Rhaego would have been rescued too.


	5. Chapter 5

Athos's chin dropped to his chest with a heavy thunk and he jolted awake, head lurching. How many hours had they been trapped in here now? Enough for sheer exhaustion to be the thing pulling at his eyelids? Or was the air growing thin?

He glanced down at Aramis laid out along the length of his leg, his shallow breaths evident under Athos's hand still resting on his chest.

Rhaego whined, and Athos shifted his gaze to the dragon who was looking, not at his rider, but at him. Athos reached out to lay his other hand on Rhaego's snout, completing their circle of contact. It was the only solace he could offer.

The sound of grinding stone broke the stagnant silence and Athos stiffened in anticipation of another collapse. A piece of rock fell away from the barricading wall and tumbled to the ground mere inches from them, letting in a stream of blazing light. Athos's eyes snapped shut automatically at the blinding intensity.

"Hello? Is anyone in there?"

"We're here," Athos called back, voice hoarse.

There were more shouts echoing away from the shaft, followed by a directive to sit tight, they would be out of there soon. Athos pushed himself to his feet and carefully stepped over Aramis, intending to shield him from any more stray rocks that would break loose in their bid for freedom. He breathed deeply at the influx of fresh air, even though it was mingled with the musty cloud around him.

Eventually the hole was wide enough for someone to wedge their upper body through.

"Can you climb out?" the miner asked.

"My friend is injured and unconscious."

The miner craned his head to try to see into the dimly lit space. "Can you lift him up and pass him through?"

Athos glanced at Aramis. It wouldn't be easy, but Aramis needed medical attention sooner rather than later. Athos bent down and pulled his brother into his arms. He clenched his jaw against the pain in his injured wrist as he dragged Aramis across the ground to the hole, then struggled to lift him up without knocking his head against the rocks. Several pairs of hands reached through the gap to take Aramis's shoulders from him.

"Careful with his head," Athos warned as he watched Aramis disappear out the other side.

The first miner returned and extended a hand to help Athos climb out next.

"You'll have to make this wider," Athos informed him. "There's still a dragon in here." He looked back at Rhaego, who was sitting in a hunched position and looking rather forlorn at the prospect of being left behind. Athos sighed.

"Monsieur?" the miner prompted.

"Keep digging," Athos told him, then turned away to go stay with Rhaego. He knew Aramis would appreciate it, and if the marksman had been in any condition to do so, he would have remained with his dragon until Rhaego was freed as well.

There were the sounds of tools working away at the rocks, joists being fitted into the gap to keep it from collapsing when another large chunk was torn away. Athos was anxious to get out, to know how Aramis was, but he knew Rhaego was the same. They watched the opening slowly get wider, but nowhere near the size needed for a full-grown dragon.

Then the sounds of working stopped and the men at the gap moved away. A throaty warble sounded from outside, and Rhaego called back querulously. There was a scuffing sound, and then some talons appeared in the opening, gripping the rocks. Athos nudged Rhaego to back up against the far wall as those dragon claws began to dig, tearing chunks of rock away. Athos threw a harried look at the ceiling, braced for it to come crashing down.

But the miners had known what they were doing and had put up enough supports that a dragon could rip into the rest of the boulders without upsetting the balance. After several more moments, the opening was large enough for Rhaego to get through.

The russet dragon nudged his forehead into Athos's back. Athos was surprised by the prompting to go first; a year ago he would have expected Rhaego to go charging through in a desperate bid for the open air.

Athos climbed over a few rocks to get outside and was immediately greeted by Savron. He placed his hand on his dragon's head with a fond smile. Savron shared a knowing look with him, then shifted his gaze and chirped at Rhaego as he exited the shaft.

Athos turned to the miners. "There are more men trapped behind a secondary cave-in."

He could see the exhaustion evident on their faces as they digested the news. The foreman gave a grim nod and ordered his men back to work. Athos blinked in surprise when he spotted Kilgar moving to help them, and he instinctively swung his gaze around in search of the captain. But there was no sign of anyone else. Perhaps they were protecting the main mine.

Athos snagged the nearest miner. "Where's my companion?"

The man nodded in the direction of a large tent that had been erected away from the shaft and the excavation efforts. Athos gave a clipped nod in return and strode toward it. Inside he found Aramis laid out on a pallet and a man cleaning the gash on his head.

"Are you a physician?" Athos asked.

The man glanced over briefly before returning to his task. "I am."

"How is he?"

"That is a more complicated answer."

Athos's jaw tightened.

The doctor looked over again at his silence, brow furrowing as he took closer note of his appearance. "Were you trapped in the shaft as well?"

"We were together," Athos replied with a nod to Aramis. "He was awake before, lucid."

"That's promising. He has yet to awaken here, but there could be many reasons for that."

Athos nodded and wordlessly shuffled over to the side of the tent and sank onto the ground. He was weary, but he kept a stoic gaze on the doctor's ministrations. Once Aramis's head was cleaned and bandaged and the physician had determined there were no other serious injuries, he turned to Athos.

"And you?"

"I'm fine," Athos replied tonelessly.

The doctor shrugged and shifted so he could move the bucket of water and towels he'd been using closer to Athos. "Those cuts should be cleaned thoroughly."

Athos accepted the items to do it himself, grunting when he accidentally tried to grab the towel with the wrong hand.

"Would you like my help or are you content to sit there a martyr?" the doctor asked dryly.

Athos looked up at him, eyes narrowing a fraction. But after a moment he canted his head in concession. It was foolish not to have his injuries seen to.

The doctor examined his wrist and concluded it wasn't broken, thankfully. He wrapped it snugly and warned Athos to rest it for several days. He then stepped back and allowed Athos to wash his face, neck, and hands on his own.

Noise outside the tent drew his attention and Athos leaped to his feet as the flap was pulled back and Etienne and Hugo struggled to bring Porthos inside. The large musketeer was hanging between them, his arms across their shoulders as they walked bowed forward, their arms holding his legs. Porthos's face was scrunched up in pain.

"Lay him here!" the doctor immediately ordered, pointing to a second pallet opposite Aramis.

Athos backed up to give them room.

"Athos!"

He turned as d'Artagnan and Treville entered the tent. Athos gave d'Artagnan an urgent once-over and was relieved to see he seemed to be in one piece.

"Captain," he acknowledged.

"Where's Aramis?" d'Artagnan asked before Treville could respond.

Athos nodded toward the back of the tent where the marksman still lay insensate. D'Artagnan's expression pinched with concern, but it was diverted by a strangled cry from Porthos.

"How long has his leg been like this?" the physician demanded as he palpated Porthos's left calf.

"Like what?" Etienne asked. "We didn't think they were broken…he just couldn't walk after being pinned for so long."

"I imagine not with it feeling like this!"

"Like what?" Treville put in with sharp authority.

"Wooden. I've seen this in crush injuries before. Bleeding pools in the limb and without immediate treatment, the tissues will develop necrosis. Which is why I ask how long it's been like this."

Athos's blood ran cold at the diagnosis.

"His legs were pinned the entire time we were trapped," d'Artagnan said worriedly. "But he wasn't in severe pain."

"The rocks shifted right before we got him out," Hugo added. "That was two hours ago."

The doctor's expression looked grim. "Alright then."

"Don' take m' leg," Porthos gritted out.

"We're not there yet, monsieur," he said. "But I do need to bleed it to release the pressure." He stood up and went to get his bag. Everyone tensed when he pulled out a scalpel.

While he was still gathering his instruments for the procedure, Athos walked over and knelt down next to Porthos. They didn't speak; Porthos didn't have the breath for it. But they met each other's gaze and shared a look of relief and solidarity.

"Does he have a head injury?" Athos asked calmly.

"Um, no…" d'Artagnan started.

Athos drew his arm back and unceremoniously punched Porthos out.

"What are you doing!" the doctor exclaimed.

Athos stood up. "Trust me, it's better this way with Porthos."

The man sputtered and threw a dismayed look at the other musketeers, but none of them contradicted Athos's statement.

D'Artagnan swallowed hard and moved forward. "Do you need an assistant?" he asked.

The doctor scowled at him but after a moment gave a grudging nod.

Treville told Etienne and Hugo to go check with the other musketeers guarding the main mine and then to report back on their status.

"Has there been another attack?" Athos asked quietly as the doctor and d'Artagnan set to work cutting open Porthos's leg.

"No," Treville replied, also grimly watching the procedure.

The physician was methodical and efficient as he made a long incision along Porthos's leg. The immediate gush of dark blood was alarming, but the doctor remained stoic.

"This will save his leg, right?" d'Artagnan asked.

"I've treated crush injuries from the mine, and some have recovered. I can't guarantee it, of course. Just like with your other man. Either he will wake or he won't."

"We are grateful for the help you've already provided," Treville put in.

The doctor nodded and waited a few more moments for Porthos's leg to slow its bleeding, then he pulled out a needle to sew the incision closed. D'Artagnan gathered up the blood soaked towel and carried it outside.

When there was nothing left to do, Treville left his men in the doctor's care and excused himself to check on matters.

Athos bent down to pick up the towel and bowl of water he'd been using and passed them to d'Artagnan so he could wash himself up some. Their leathers were heavily coated in grime and dust, but that would take some more thorough washing later. Athos found another towel and went to crouch down next to Porthos to wipe his face clean. Afterward, all that was left to do was settle in for a vigil.

Porthos woke first, coming to with a pained moan. "M' leg?" he immediately croaked.

"Still attached," Athos assured him.

"How's it feel?" d'Artagnan asked worriedly.

"Hurts," he grunted. "But…not as bad."

"Usually a good sign," Athos commented.

Porthos huffed. "Aramis?"

"Resting."

Porthos tried to lift his head to see for himself but fell back with an agonized grunt.

"Lie still," the doctor chided, coming over.

Athos and d'Artagnan reluctantly moved out of his way. They waited while the doctor looked at Porthos's leg to make sure more blood hadn't pooled within the cavity. When the man declared it was holding up and offered to give Porthos something for the pain, Athos stepped outside the tent to give Treville an update.

He found Cornet telling the captain that there was still no sign of the rebels.

"Keep a guard on the mine and expand the search," Treville ordered.

Cornet nodded, cast a brief look at Athos in acknowledgment, and then headed off.

Athos came to stand next to the captain. "Strange that the rebels just disappeared like that," he remarked. "The mine was vulnerable for a few hours before the regiment arrived."

"Perhaps they expended all their gunpowder on the first explosion," Treville replied noncommittally.

"Perhaps the mine was not the target."

The captain turned to fully face him.

Athos shifted as well. "I'm beginning to think this was less a rebel insurrection and more of a targeted attack against the musketeers…orchestrated by the Cardinal. He is, after all, the one who insisted we be assigned this mission."

"The Cardinal does despise the Musketeers, but he would not be so vindictive as to risk one of France's most valuable mining operations."

"So luring us to an old, long-dry shaft would make sense then. These rebels were also armed with acimite."

Treville's jaw ticked. "Why a direct attack now? In the past his efforts to dismantle us have been more subtle."

"I don't know," Athos said. "He's planning something and is concerned the four of us might get in the way? We have thwarted his schemes in the past."

Treville exhaled tensely. "The disappearance of the rebels without them achieving their supposed intended goal is suspicious, but until we track them down and interrogate them, we can't prove this was anything but a failed attack on the mine."

Athos nodded sagely; he knew that. He also knew that if this was the Cardinal's machinations, those rebels would either be long gone…or eliminated so they could never be linked to Richelieu.

Treville's expression showed he knew the same. He clapped Athos on the shoulder. "Get some rest. We'll be here a while."

Athos nodded and turned to head back inside the tent. He pulled up short when he saw d'Artagnan kneeling next to Aramis and pointing toward Porthos. The marksman's eyes were open and he slowly shifted his gaze to Athos. A faint smile tugged at his mouth before he closed his eyes to rest once more.

Whatever the Cardinal wanted to throw at them, musketeers didn't die easily.

.o.0.o.

Half the Musketeer dragon riders spent nearly a week camped out at the mine, guarding it in case those rebels decided to return, but also guarding their wounded brothers while they healed. The other half, led by Cornet, was out scouring the entire countryside for the perpetrators, talking to everyone in every village. But there were no whispers of rebellion anywhere. Wherever the Cardinal had gotten his intelligence on the operation, it wasn't from the locals for a twenty-square-mile radius.

Still Treville kept up the posted guard while sending daily reports back to the King. Eventually Louis wrote back with orders for them to return, as the threat was "clearly passed." D'Artagnan could only imagine the Cardinal's reaction; after all, Treville had emphasized the necessity of the whole dragon rider regiment staying deployed based on the _Cardinal's_ earlier orders. D'Artagnan hoped Richelieu was choking on it now.

Not that they could have left the mine anyway, what with Porthos and Aramis so grievously wounded. But those two had slowly been recovering under the local doctor's care. The journey home, when it was finally time, was still rough on them, even though it was only an hour of flight. Getting Porthos in and out of the saddle without putting pressure on his legs was a challenge. Aramis had trouble staying elevated for a prolonged length of time.

Once back at the garrison, they were ushered into the infirmary and Doctor Lemay was called for. D'Artagnan knew they were in good hands and so he made a quick exit to the dragon compound to see his wife. The sight of her lifted a week's worth of burdens from his shoulders.

"Sorry I was away for so long," he said contritely as he scooped her up into his arms.

"I'm just glad you're all right," she replied, arms clinging around his neck tightly.

He breathed in her scent for a long moment before pulling back. "How were things here?"

"Fine. Ayelet's been climbing the walls. I think she enjoyed her trip with Dragor quite a bit and wants to go again."

"And here I was hoping she'd missed me," d'Artagnan quipped.

Constance smirked. "That too. She's insufferable, you know."

He grinned. "I know."

She tried to step out of his embrace but d'Artagnan tugged her arm to hold her still.

"I love you," he said with all sincerity. "You can't know how much."

Constance's eyes softened and she leaned in to kiss him. "I do know, because it's how much I love you."

D'Artagnan folded her into his arms again and held on, simply basking in the glow of their love. Whenever things seemed bleak and dark, Constance was the light that guided him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT TIME
> 
> On a secret mission to deliver letters from the King, Aramis is intercepted by a masked dragon rider who will stop at nothing to keep those letters from reaching Spain.
> 
> \-----
> 
> Yes there is another episode but unfortunately I haven't finished writing it yet. These past several weeks have been a real struggle to get any writing done, or anything else for that matter. But I have started the next episode, and I have the one after it outlined, so more IS coming! Just not by Monday, and maybe even not by Wednesday. Hopefully by next Saturday at the latest. I really appreciate everyone who's been following and commenting on these stories. I'm glad they're a pleasant distraction in the midst of very stressful times around the world. Keep staying safe!


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